


To your heart from mine

by flavialikestodraw, Potix



Series: Playlist [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Badass Molly, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sherlock Being an Idiot, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-05 00:01:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4157934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flavialikestodraw/pseuds/flavialikestodraw, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potix/pseuds/Potix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do you remember the first kiss?<br/>Stars shooting across the sky<br/>To come to such a place as this<br/>You never left my mind</p>
            </blockquote>





	To your heart from mine

**Author's Note:**

> Hi to everyone!  
> This is another attempt to write a fic and this one was written together with Potix, who (If I believed in such things) should be nominated saint for the infinite patience she has with me.  
> This is a loooong one shot, inspired by the song “One Line”, by Pj Harvey, from her wonderful album "Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea".
> 
> Please forgive the typos and the grammar mistakes, but English is not my first language.  
> I don't own Sherlock (sadly).

**Do you remember the first kiss?**

**Stars shooting across the sky**

**To come to such a place as this**

**You never left my mind**

****  


**22 years old**

**London- Barbican- Milton St.**

An endless ache ran into his brain: it was like a glowing metal wire was stuck in his head. A small slice of bright, blue sky squeezed between the dark wall of the alley upon him, and the heavy, wet scent of the street, assaulted his nostrils - he didn't even remember how or when he had reached this place. He remembered just a few things: the persistent smell of perspiration, then suddenly a light sweet perfume, the hint of pale, freckled skin, big dark eyes, red lips and a bright smile, a soft gentle touch… And the taste of Cherry and smoke, still on his lips. Memories, visions, or hallucinations? He could never understand it, after a dose. It was just foggy thoughts, and the same, long, painful ache.

His latest clear memories were of that DI shouting at him, their usual diplomatic talks about drugs, or about how he was wasting his life: again, and again, and again. His surname was Lestrade (it didn't matter to him a thing about his name, it could be something like Joffrey or Graham or whatever-boring -name), and he was another one of stupid Mycroft's minion, probably paid to spy on him. As usual. Another moron crusader of the army "Save little Holmes", just another boring stupid man!

He didn't need him. He didn't need to be saved. He needed to get up and leave that place.

Sherlock slowly lifted himself up and pushed his hand against the wet brick wall beside him, then he heard  heavy and fast footsteps entering in the hallway, and he smirked to himself: it was always the same. He didn't even need to lift his head: he knew perfectly who was reaching him.  
"Good morning Lestrade! You got a call from my brother, I se-"

Lestrade grabbed him by his coat and punched him hard on the face. "I am not your fucking babysitter! You junkie bastard!"

Sherlock rubbed his face "No? Are you sure Lestrade? Because you sure seem to be very dedicated to find me." Then Sherlock started to giggle, "Well, I should thank my big brother! At least I have a free ride to home!"

Lestrade grabbed him again by the collar, and slammed him against the brick wall.

"Ouch! Easy,old man!" Lestrade was too tempted to slap him in the face, that idiot! "This time your brother didn't do anything!" He released Sherlock and watched him fall again on the pavement. Sherlock lifted his head and looked up at him. “No?”

“No, you bloody moron! I spent the whole night looking for you, imagining you were dead in some sewer in London!”

Sherlock started to laugh again “Wow! Old man! Really? My brother  must pay you really well!"

Lestrade gritted his teeth, trying to hold back his anger, then stepped away from him. He was really tired. “Ok, it's enough!” He turned again on him “You know, I’ve always thought that you were a smart guy.”

“Well, thank y-”  

“Let me finish!”

Sherlock rose again from the pavement, his nose was bleeding but he didn't care. "Lestrade, I don't want to hear another boring tirade! Let me guess: your next words will be something like: “You are wasting your life, you are too young… And blah blah blah... Listen to me, old man: I.Don't.Care! This is MY FUCKING LIFE!"

He limped toward Lestrade. “So you and my big brother can go fuck yourself!”

Lestrade shook his head and looked at him straight in the eyes. “You are an idiot, you are just a pathetic bloody idiot! How long have we known each other, eh? It's been three years, Sherlock!”

“So what?”

Greg rolled his eyes and lifted his hands up, exasperated. "So, wha-? Oh bloody hell!  You don't get it, don't you? I care about you! I don't want to see you like this!”

“You are not my father”. Sherlock spat the words to him , with all the revulsion he could muster.

Lestrade grinned at him. “Trust me, I don't want to be, thank you very much! But I am your friend."

Sherlock furrowed his brow. “I don’t have friends!”

Lestrade shook his head, disapprovingly. “Yeah, yeah I know: you have only enemies.” He sighed again and stroked his face with the palm of his hand ( _Sherlock's father is a saint, for sure!_ ).

“I’ve been by your side for three years, with you following me during every case I took. And you are the most annoying, rude, nosy, junkie, dickhead I’ve ever known!" Greg put his right hand on his shoulder. “But you are also the most smart git I’ve ever known, seriously! If it were not for you, many cases would still be open!”

Sherlock took his hand and took it off from his shoulder. “What is the point, Lestrade? I just want to go home!”

He slapped him lightly on his head. "The point is, that I need you, as you need me! Stupid boy! I need someone to give me a hand to solve the case…”, then he indicated Sherlock’s forehead, “And you need to use that useless brilliant brain that you have for something better than selling and buying drugs, so we need a deal!"

Sherlock sighed, tiredly. He just wanted to be left in peace, and go home. "What kind of deal?"

Lestrade glared at him, deadly serious now. “If you still want to work with me, you have to promise me that you will stay away from the drugs. ANY kind of drugs! And if I saw you again in this state, rest assured I will put you in jail and ban you from Scotland Yard as long as I live, alright?”  

He raised his hand to Sherlock to shake. “So, we have a deal?”

Sherlock looked down on his hand. “You know that you can't ban me from Scotland Yard, don’t you?"

Lestrade smiled at him “"No, but your brother can do it.  It is in our agreements. So…” Sherlock shook his hand “Fine! We have a deal!”

Lestrade squeezed his hand and hugged Sherlock, giving him strong pats on the back. “I’m sure one day you will be the death of me, you stupid Holmes boy..Don’t let me down, Sherlock…”

The young man remained unperturbed, not returning the embrace. “So… Are you going to give me a lift, or do you prefer to molest me any further?”

The DI stepped back, and turned away from him, chuckling. “Since you asked so politely… Tag along, Sherlock Holmes!”

* * *

 ****  


**I'm watching from the wall**

**As in the streets we fight**

**This world all gone to war**

**All I need is you tonight**

**29 years old - 27 years old**

**London - Saint Barts Hospital - Rooftop**

The Big Ben, Westminster, the London Eye and the new skyline of London,new buildings, new bridges, new noises of an always awake metropolis. It was like being on the back of a giant, you could see everything, feel everything... The beautiful and yet dark corners, you could almost touch its infinite souls... It was magnificent, and Sherlock loved that place. It was one of his favourite place in London. He put his foot on the railing, to tilt himself even more forward, and immerge himself a bit more in that wonderful view, oblivious to the danger, as always. He put a cigarette between his lips and light it, his gaze never leaving the city before his eyes. He inhaled deeply the smoke; it was his last addiction, the only one left. He was immersed in his thoughts when he heard the metallic sound of the rooftop door, followed by soft footsteps. It was a woman, maybe that nurse that he saw leaving that place ten minutes before. He dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his expensive Italian shoes.

"Oh! I am sorry, I thought that there was nobody here..."

Sherlock froze on the spot: he recognized that voice... But how - when- had he heard it? He turned to the woman behind him. She was staring at the floor, moving away a strand of hair behind her ear. She had  long chestnut hair, the same colour of the woman that had been haunting his mind for years. Who was she?

“My name is Mo…” She lifted her head up and suddenly she halted her speech. She had recognized him -Sherlock could see it from her face, from how she was holding her breath. She lowered her face, trying to hide her expression from his insistent gaze, the hint of a blush on her cheekbones.

"Do you rem- no, I mean... Do- do ehm ...Do you recognize me?"

Sherlock turned away from her. “No, but I presume that you are Molly Hooper, the new assistant of doctor Stewart, that inept pathologist.”   

Her eyes widened. “Ho-how-”

He put on his best, odious, fake smile. “ How I guessed? First of all, I don’t guess. I deduce. You have still a faint scar made by a scalpel on your right ring finger, and one fairly new just above the old one. You still have a smell of formaldehyde  on you, this is a product used very frequently in the morgue, even if it is almost covered by the lemongrass soap that you have used earlier. And your name is written on the identity card hanging upon your pocket. So..."

He took advantage of her  shocked silence to introduce himself. He could be very polite, if he wanted to. "The name is Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes. Consulting Detective."

* * *

**And I draw a line**

**To your heart today**

**'To your heart from mine**

**A line to keep us safe'**

**32 years old - 30 years old**

**Paris- Belleville - Rue de Faubourg du Temple**

Molly was sitting on the floor, exactly in front of the window. It was dark outside, and she hoped that she could see the stars somewhere, instead of a long stretch of roofs and street lights. Molly sighed and lifted up to go to the tiny kitchen in the back of the room. This apartment was really small: the only thing that separated the bedroom from the kitchen was a wall tent, there was a large window that took up nearly an entire wall and bent to occupy a part of the roof, and the wall was covered by an hideous flowery wallpaper. All the place seemed the almost exact replica of the apartment from the movie "Irma La Douce" and Molly couldn't stop herself from giggling at the thought of a grumpy Sherlock Holmes wandering around that girlish apartment.

"Molly? Why are you giggling?”

She turned to the bathroom threshold, from where Sherlock was staring at her. She shook her head and smiled at him. "Nothing, I was just thinking about an old movie..."

Sherlock furrowed his brow and moved towards the bed to take his phone.

"...Sherlock?"

"Yes, Molly?"

"Why am I here?”

Molly was standing at the foot of the bed, her arms folded and a questioning look on her face.

"This is a silly question, Molly. You know why you are he-". She raised a hand to stop him.  "I know your answer: it is always the same. But remember, I can see you, and actually I know that you don’t belive in what you’re saying to me. So: why am I here?"

Sherlock looked up at her. "You are anobservant and brilliant woman and I just needed your help to..."

"No, Sherlock. I want the truth.”

He turned to the window. “I miss London... and John and... I miss you. our friendship, I mean.”

She came close to him. "Ok, well...This is a part of the truth. Because we both know that I'm useless here: you have Mycroft and he is more useful than me...” Molly sat down on the bed and continued. “He always has the right contacts - the right connections- to help you. I am just a civilian in this battle, not a soldier. Again: why am I here?”

"I have already answered to you.”

She sighed and took his hand in hers, Sherlock looked away from the city out of the window and turned to her.

“Sherlock, I want to tell you a story and, maybe, you already know it…”

Molly moved a little closer, leaning her head on his waist. “ Ten years ago there was a girl who had just moved from a little village somewhere in the Sussex to the big city...”

Sherlock sighed tiredly to her. “Molly, I already know your story, you don't need to tell it to me.”

Molly smiled at him.“But this isn't my story: This is ours.”

"Molly, you should-".

"Stop? Do you really want me to stop? And stop what?". She had the audacity to smirk, and Sherlock found that he needed to distance himself from her; nonetheless, he sat down on the bed, her lavender scent caressing his nostrils.

"You know, I won't ever be able to stop doing it", she continued.

"What? Pestering me?".

"No, Sherlock... I meant something else. What I meant is... That I tried, believe me, I did. It's just that I failed, every single time. I can't-".

"Molly, I know. I've always known, and-". His phone rang, and in a moment Sherlock was on his feet. "Mycroft, how delightful to hear your voice."

He went to the window, opened it and sat on the little balcony, after closing the window behind him. Molly could only guess what kind of conversation Sherlock and his brother were having, probably something about his next mission. Something that, probably, would keep them away for months.  

She was tired to wait for an answer that would never come. She was tired to wait for him. Molly stared at his back again and rose up to find some clothes for the night.

Sherlock came back into the room and angrily slammed his phone on the bedside table; then he turned to Molly, who was dressing herself on the other end of the room, staring at him. His eyes were tired, yet full of rage.

“Do you want an answer Molly?”

Sherlock brushed his hair away from his forehead, trying to put himself together

"I had tried for years to forget you. To erase every single memory of you, from my mind palace. I even tried to convince myself that you were just a dream, and nothing more."

He closed his eyes "I lied to myself, all these years, because I remember that girl who was alone in the big city. I remember her kindness, her beautiful smile..."

She walked to him and took his hand. "Sherlock, I-"

"You saved me, Molly. That night you saved me...Because you are the first person that has bruised my armor. I am still here, just because of you"

He looked up at her. "I do remember you, I always remember you. I remember our first kiss, I remember everything of that night."

"Then why you didn't say anything to me? "

He cupped her face in his hands, forcing Molly to look at him. " Because I had to protect you. If you love me you will be always in danger and-"

She pulled his hands from her face. "No... you can't ask me this. You just can’t... " She shook her head: she knew what he was trying to say, but she wasn't ready to listen, not after all this years.

"You can't, not after all I did for you... "

He bit his lips. “I have to...And you know why.”

Sherlock looked away from her and turned again to the window. " Do you want an answer? Fine: you are here because I need to let you go. I-I can’t love you… I can’t..."

He closed his eyes and leaned his head on the cold glass.

_...I need to let you go…_

* * *

  
**All through the rising sun**

**All through the circling years**

**You were the only one**

**Who could have brought me here**

**33 years old**

**London - Marylebone- 221b Baker St.**

_“Did you miss me?”_

_“Did you miss me?”_

Molly closed the door quickly behind her, and slide down to sit on the floor. “Where is Sherlock?”

The flat was empty. There was just her, and his voice, stuck in her head. How could it be? He was dead! Molly put her head between her hands, trying to regain her breath. "This is  a nightmare...this is a fucking nightmare!"

“Oh, Molly… Darling, I thought there was something special between us! Aren’t you happy to see me again?”

She sprinted to her feet again, but in an instant Moriarty was on her. “No, Molly… You can’t leave. Not yet, at least. And as to answer to your previous question, I think our dear Sherlock will be here very soon. But don’t worry, sweetie… We are going to find a way to make time pass faster…”

Molly tried to free herself from his grasp. “Leave me, Moriarty!”

He grab her shoulders, pinning her on the door  “Moriarty? Molly! I am really disappointed!” He came close and murmured in her ear “I thought I was Jim for you...” He kissed her cheek. “Do you remember Molly?” He lowered his mouth on hers. “Oh Jim… Please, please Jim...Yes Jim...Do you remember?"

Molly squeezed her eyes. “Don’t-”

“Don't what? If I remember correctly you liked it, and very much…Didn't you, Molly?” Moriarty trapped her face between his hands, forcing her to look up at him. "And you don't know how much I missed it...My sweet Molly…”

"Please Jim don't-". He kissed her softly on her lips. Molly tried to move her face away from his kisses, but he turned her face towards him and grabbed her wrist with his fingers, his left hand still on her cheek, slowly caressing his way down on her breast.

"Don't you dare..."

He moved his lips to her ear and nibbled it."What do you think of one last ride?”

Molly tried to escape from his touch but her body was trapped under his weight.

”No, no, no Molly...What are you trying to do?”

He kissed her again,this time forcing her lips to open under his demanding kisses. His mouth tastes of whisky and smoke, Molly remembered that she had loved those kisses before, she had loved that guy once... But he was not him, he had never been him.

She opened her mouth, then abruptly bit his lower lip, strong enough to taste his blood. “Ouch! You stupid bitch!” He slapped her and Molly fell on the floor.

“He will find you and he will kill you!”

Moriarty touched his wounded lip, then started to laugh. "You don't know, don't you? He is a dead man walking, right now!"

He lifted her up again and trapped her wrists behind her back. “He killed a man, did you know that?”

Molly held her breath, her eyes wide open, her thoughts broken, desperately searching for anything to hold onto. No, he can't be...No.

Moriarty brushed away a strand of hair off her nape, then started to kiss her neck and her shoulder. "I can hear your thoughts, Molly..."

He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled deeply "He is not an angel... He is just like me… And you’ve always known..."

He kissed softly the sweet spot between her neck and the shoulder. "My sweet, sweet Molly... Why are you so blind when you fall in love?"

Molly closed her eyes and gritted her teeth."I don't love him! Not anymore..."

Moriarty chuckled. "Oh, Molly! Do you really think that I can't see it? You love him…” He painfully clenched her wrists. "Like you loved me once..." He grabbed her waist and pulled her even closer to him "And I am tired to wait!" He pulled her up and started to march towards the bedroom.

"NO! Jim! Put me down!" He quickly pulled out a knife and pointed it to her neck. "Shh-shh-shh..be quiet! I told you, I am tired to wait!"

Moriarty lifted her up on his shoulder and slammed her on the middle of the bed. Molly tried to escape again but Moriarty pinned her body on the mattress.

"Molly, Molly, Molly... Don't fucking try to escape!" He used his knife to slowly open her shirt.

"Jim, please Jim! Don't do that, don't please!"

He lifted up his knife on her lower lip "My love... but I want to!"  Then he slowly lowered his knife to her bra and cut it open. "You have no idea how I missed you, my sweet Molly...did you miss me, too?" He grinned at her and kissed the sweaty skin between her breasts.

Molly was trembling, his voices  filled her thoughs, she needed to focus...focus! _What can I do? What can I do?!... think! You need to think!_ She turned her head and  tried to regain her breath and her mind.

Molly closed her eyes, freed her hand and started to caress his hair. Moriarty stopped and lifted up his gaze to her.Molly looked at him and for a split second she thought that the man in front of him was still that shy irish guy that she had fell in love with four years ago, but he wasn't the same. There was a cold, cruel, raging darkness that was boiling deep in his eyes. 

Molly closed her eyes and brought her mouth to his, opened her lips and let his tongue  caress her mouth . Moriarty grabbed her waist and Molly cupped his face, then slowly lowered her hand to his nape, descending to his shoulder and caressing his right arm until she grabbed his hand. Slowly their kisses became more demanding. He lifted her to discard her jacket but Molly reached his armed hand, and quickly stabbed his neck.

* * *

When Sherlock finally arrived to his flat, he found Molly pressing one of his scarves to Moriarty’s neck. There was blood on her blouse, on her hands, and for a second he feared it was hers. Moriarty’s rasping breaths told him that fortunately she was safe; bruised, scared, but in the end, intact. Or maybe, the wounds were not on the surface of her body; maybe she was hiding more painful lacerations inside her soul.

“I hope an ambulance is coming… I don’t know how much more I could do for him…”, she sobbed, and for a moment it seemed that the ghost of a smile was on Moriarty’s lips; then he spat some blood on Molly’s arm.

Molly Hooper, the ultimate good Samaritan; always ready to save the other’s life, even the one of the monster who had tried to kill her.

“Mr Holmes, please, move out of here!”. The paramedics pushed him aside, and for a few minutes he remained still, frozen in place, losing touch with the frantic scene before his eyes. It was Molly’s voice to bring him back to reality.

“Sherlock, I-”

“You… What did you think you were doing?”. He searched an answer in her eyes, but all he could see were fear, and concern.

“He was everywhere, Sherlock. I thought that your home would be the safest place to be, but-”

“Really, Molly? You thought that this was the safest place to escape your psychotic ex-boyfriend’s attention? Are you all really so stupid?”. He started to pace in front of her. His voice raised, until he was shouting at her.

“I’ve never seen anyone doing anything so stupid… And I witnessed Anderson working on a crime scene! You, Molly Hooper, are simply the epitome of idiocy. It’s a miracle you’re still alive!”

She couldn’t believe her ears. She had risked her life, her career, her mental sanity, for the man before her eyes; and there he was, complaining that mousy Molly Hooper had made another mistake.

“I see. I- I think it’s time for me to go”. She left the room without looking back; she climbed into the ambulance without a word, deaf to the doctor’s questions about her wellbeing. They decided that she was shocked; but she knew that Sherlock’s words had hurt her even more than Moriarty’s actions.

* * *

 ****  


**And I draw a line**

**To your heart today**

**'To your heart from mine**

**A line to keep us safe'**

****  


**35 years old - 33 years old**

**London - Islington- Framfield Road**

She didn’t know why he came to her flat, two days later. Mary, John and  Greg were taking turns at staying with her, to be sure that she was copying well. When Mary opened her door, and Sherlock appeared at the threshold, the pathologist uttered a single “No”, and it was more than enough for Mary; she closed the door in his face.

The dull sound of the door slamming made Molly jump. Mary moved to hug her, but the pathologist distanced herself from the former spy, raising from the sofa and walking towards the window. She managed to catch a glimpse of Sherlock hailing a cab, and in a blink of the eye he was gone.

“He’s not really mad at you, I hope you know that. He’s just-”

Molly sighed, her fingertips following the raindrops on the glass. “I disappointed him, Mary. I reduced his enemy to a vegetable, and now… All the answers he was looking for, they are lost.”

“Oh, Molly…”. Mary’s tone sounded so pitiful, and she hated it. Everyone was treating her like she was some frail thing, too weak to bear the weight of what had happened, and she was starting to get tired of the hushed words behind her back, or of the sad looks in the others’ eyes.

Mary approached her, her gaze on the busy people running on the pavement, trying to find a shelter from the rain. “You know, I thought you were the most clever one. Your intellect seemed to me more complete, because you don’t make the mistake to detach your brain from your heart. That’s why you’re able to see Sherlock, Molly. You don’t see only his mind; you see everything, even those part of him that he tries so hard to hide. It’s really a pity, but I’m sorely mistaken. You, like Sherlock, are one of the biggest idiot on this planet.”

Molly stopped her chase of the raindrops on the window, and opened her mouth to reply, only to be stopped by Mary.

“If you really think that the reason Sherlock shouted at you before, was because you deprived him of the occasion to beat Moriarty, you’re nothing but an idiot. Didn’t you see, the look in his eyes? He was terrified. He thought he was too late, to save you. And the thought of your possible demise… It frightened him, even more that he could imagine. Anyone else would have told you, instead of shouting insults… But you know our dear consulting detective: he’s not like us, normal, dull people. He’s-”

“Extraordinary. Nothing less, nothing more than that.”

Mary’s mobile chirped. She checked the screen. “It’s John. He’s asking if you prefer Indian or Chinese for dinner.”

Molly returned to the sofa, and faked a yawn. “Could you tell him that I’m really tired? I’m grateful for all you’re doing for me, but I’m exhausted, I don’t think I could enjoy a meal without falling asleep.”

Mary gave her a wary look. “It really disappoints me, how you and Sherlock seem to forget how I can spot a fibber… But I’ll tell John that I put you in bed myself, since you were barely able to walk on your own. Mycroft’s men are still outside, and you know you can call me, or John, or Greg, for anything, don’t you?”

This time Molly didn’t try to avoid Mary’s embrace. She hugged her friend back, and watched her leave the flat; then she walked to her bedroom, and retrieved a blanket from the linen closet. For a moment she regretted refusing to spend more time with Mary, and John; maybe she wasn’t ready to remain alone. She pushed back those thoughts, and lay down on her old sofa, the blanket covering her quivering body; she sobbed and cried, until she was too knackered to do it anymore; finally, she fell into a dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

Molly awakened few hours later in her bed. She knew she had fallen asleep in the living room, and for a moment the panic stole her breath. Rationally she knew Moriarty, or any of his accomplices, could not harm her anymore, but it was difficult to remain calm and lucid when only a few days before a psycopath had tried to rape you. She caressed the sheets, someone has changed it: they smelled of that new fabric softener Mrs Hudson had suggested to her a few weeks before. She noticed that the window was slightly opened, and the soft breeze brought to her the enticing aroma of fresh coffee and fried eggs, coming from the kitchen. Her heartbeats and breathing function were slowly returning to be normal, so she slowly lifted herself on her feet and walked to the kitchen, her bare feet slapping on the wooden floor. "Seriously, Mary, believe me: I am fine. You don't need to- oh! "

She was stopped by a very familiar tall man with blue gaze and black curls. " Good morning, coffee?"

"Wha- what are you doing here?". Sherlock moved a chair away from the table and sat down, as usual without waiting for an invitation, and looked up at her. “ Please Molly, sit dow: we need to talk.” Molly turned away, determined to avoid his gaze. She needed to remain focused, and looking into his eyes usually had the opposite effect on her.

“Why are you shouting at me?”

Sherlock pursed his lips "I am sorry, I didn't want to... "

Molly wrapped her arms to herself. “You didn’t want… Yet you did it, anyway.” She moved a chair and sat in front of him. “Sometimes I really think that Moriarty was right.”

“What do you mean?”

She furrowed her brow and gripped even more her arms."I-I was half naked, covered in his blood…” She closed her eyes trying to restrain her tears, and whispered. “His body- his weight was upon me. I didn't even remember how did I free myself...How I did.. "   

She looked down on her hands. “I still see his blood on me.” She closed her hands in a painful fist. “I was shocked and I was lost, I couldn't breath…” Molly gritted his teeth triyng to contain her rage.“And you - _you didn't help me!_ ”

She stood up and looked down on him, silent in front of her. “Moriarty was right: you are like him, and I-” She  bit her lower lip. “You used me... You used me. Like he did before… I-”

She turned away from Sherlock. “I am tired and I don’t want to to see you ever again.”

Molly looked at him again and pointed to the apartment door. “Please Sherlock, get out from here and from my life. I don't want to see-”

“No.” He stood up and came closer to her.

“Get. Out.”

He tried to touch her but Molly turned away from him. “I said: get out!”

Sherlock lowered his hand and looked down on the floor. "I didn't want to lose you again...”

Molly turned to him. “What did you say?”

“I said: I didn’t want to lose you.”

"Why do you keep to doing this to me? Why? ” Molly shook her head. “You don't care about me… You don’t love me…”

Sherlock tried to talk to her but she stopped him. ”I need to move on.”

She smiled sadly a him.  “I am tired, and broken. Please Sherlock... Let me go.” She closed her eyes and pointed again to the door. “Please, ge-.”

“I was scared! When I saw you covered in blood I was scared!” His voice was broken by a darker fear. ”In that moment I thought I might have lost you forever”

Shelock came even closer, Molly raised her head but kept her eyes closed- she could feel his body heat near her cheek.

"I am sorry. I am sorry for every time I did this to you , for every time I pretended that you were nothing to me and I hurt you even more, I am sorry … I-I don't know how to handle these feelings..."

He raised up his hand to touch her and this time Molly didn't move, didn't turn away.

"You are right: I am not better than him... I have hurt you- deeply hurt you.”

He touched her face, holding his breath for a moment; fearing that she would move away again.

"I tried to erase you from my mind… But I can't… Please forgive me…”

He leaned down his forehead until it touched hers. "I waited too long, I lied to myself and now I have lost you...", he murmured on her lips, his hands on her cheeks, her eyes still closed.

“I can’t lose you again, I-I don’t want to lose you again. Please, forgive me... if-if there was any-”

"Do you remember the first time I saw you? _Really_ saw you? I do, I remember that night, that precise moment… I remember a lonely guy with a nervous and curious gaze always on move… That gaze... ” She smirked to herself. “ You already knew everything about me and I never felt so exposed in my life,  for a moment I thought that you could penetrate my soul...”

Molly opened her eyes and looked straight into his. “But there was something...something buried deep in that gaze. I could see it then, and I can see it now: you were like me and in that moment- _in that_ precise moment- I fell in love with you …”

Molly lifted up her hands to touch his. “You were hurt- _you are_ hurt and you keep to distace yourself from the world to not be hurt again… And this, this is the result, Sherlock.”

She freed herself from his hands and stepped back. “ I-I love you - _I love you_ Sherlock. I’ve always loved you, but I can’t do this to myself anymore.”

He reached out and took her hand. “Molly, wait-” She turned to him again, staring at his hand on her. “I want to ask you one last question, Sherlock: did you- did you kill a man? Is it true?”

Sherlock tensed, he remembered the crack of the bullet breaking the skull, the crumpled noise of the bone, the heavy muffled sound of the body falling on the floor... And Magnussen’s eyes still wide open, still fixed on him- and the puddle of red blood on the gray cement of the floor. Sherlock squeezed his eyes, trying to erase the memory; then he reopened them, his gaze became more heavier and the hard plane of his face suddenly seemed even sharper than before.

“Yes”

 Molly felt her mouth going dry, her eyes wide open, fixed to him. “ Wh-why you did this?”

“Because I had to protect John, Mary and you... I had to protect you”

Molly tensed and lifted up her chin. “It's happening again, isn’t it?” He came close to her trying to take her hands, but she turned away from him.

“Molly…”

She looked down on the floor. “No…” She bit her lips. “I can't do this to myself anymore.”

Sherlock held his breath; he couldn't move, a heavy silence filled the room. _Molly don't say it, please don’t say it._  

"We can't do this to ourselves anymore.” She looked up at him. “I can't do this to myself anymore.”

_...Please, let me go..._

 

* * *

**Watch the stars now moving**

**Across the sky**

**Keep this feeling**

**Safe tonight.**

 

**37 years old - 35 years old**

**New York - Brooklyn - Troutman Street**

The cold wind caressed her face, she could smell the spicy cooking coming from the other side of the street, the smell of the pavement just wet from the rain; she could hear the dense noise from the street and the high-pitched laughs and chattering from her neighbors sitting on the fire escapes.

Molly loved New York, even if she still missed her city. She missed London, especially in nights like these, when the light rain drenched the road and she could see the moon, peeking through the clouds.

In these nights she usually sat by the window near the fire escapes, waiting for the rain to end; after that she climbed the stairs to the roof, with a blanket and a pillow in her arms, to lie down with her back on the parapet and her eyes facing Manhattan. In those brief moments, when the wet smell of the street and the scent of the iron and smoke filled her nostrils,  she could close her eyes and pretend for a brief moment to be back in London.

_Maybe it's time to go home, don't you agree Molly?_

She smirked to herself: two years has passed without seeing him, or searching him, but she could still hear his voice in her thoughts, and see his eyes in her dreams.

Your hair are as long as before, I can see. Better, I don’t like the short hair that you had at your wedding, it suited you.”

_Sherlock?_

She opened her eyes, he was in front of her, with a gentle smile on his face.

“John and Mary had told me that you wanted to come back. So…” He raised his  hand to her. “Doctor Robertson, are you ready to go home?”

She smiled at him “I am Doctor Hooper again. The divorce papers were signed six months ago, you know that.”

He wrinkled his nose. "Of course I know, but I love to tease you a bit..." She giggled and took his hand in hers, while Sherlock helped her to rise up from the floor.

She savoured the feeling of his arms around her body, of his steady breath tickling her nose. It had been so long, yet it seemed that not one day had passed since she had felt safe and cherished in his embrace.

Her lips caressed his for a brief moment, and she made sure to lock his gaze with hers, before she said the words she had longed to pronounce for a long time.

“I’m ready. Bring me home, Sherlock.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this story (And sorry for the mistakes and the typos), comments and kudos are very welcome.


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